


When I Need You (Comfort Me)

by greymantledlady



Series: When I Need You (Comfort Me) [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Caring, Caring Steve, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit rating for Chapter 7 only, F/F, Female Steve Rogers, Female Tony Stark, Femslash, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Genderswap, Gentle Sex, Getting Together, Hugs, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Names Not Changed, Nightmares, Protective Steve, Rule 63, Sleepy Cuddles, Steve Being Sweet, Tony Is Small And Needs All The Cuddles, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, sort of, wlw author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greymantledlady/pseuds/greymantledlady
Summary: Sometimes it feels like she’s trying so hard and she just can’t, she can’t. And suddenly everything's just – just too much, and somehow Tony’s got her face down on the workbench, arms curled around her head, big helpless shuddering sobs rising up in her chest.Because Steve - it doesn't matter what Tony does, Steve’ll still just think she’s selfish and too loud and a show-off, and it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t care, Tony doesn’t care what Steve thinks.It’s – it’s just, she’s so lonely, so bloody lonely. And she shudders and sniffles again and presses her face pathetically into her arms.





	1. Chapter 1

Tony feels like absolute shit.

Her back aches, her shoulders ache, in fact, her whole body aches, and there’s those stupid sharp muscle cramps that feel like long bodkins poking up through the core of her body. And to make things even better, she’s  _leaking_ , stupid bloodstains all over her jeans and warm stickiness down her leg and it’s just  _too much_ , suddenly, just – just everything.

She stares down at the surface of the bench, trying to bring it back into focus, hands gripping too tightly to the edge. Her eyes are blurry and sore, and there's a dull thudding in her ears and a big stinging lump in her throat that she can't swallow down.

There's a pile of tiny nuts and bolts in front of her, and she shoves them roughly out of the way, but a couple of them fall off the surface and she's too slow and stiff to catch them. They fall to the ground with a little peltering noise, and roll away in different directions as she watches.

And then somehow she’s got her face down on the workbench, arms curled around her head, and big shuddering sobs keep rising up in her chest, hating herself for crying like this, and it’s – it’s just, she’s so bloody lonely, and sometimes it feels like she’s trying so hard and yet – and Steve.

Because Steve – it doesn't matter what Tony does, Steve still won’t, still won’t ever. Steve’ll still just think she’s selfish and too loud and a show-off, and it doesn’t matter, Tony doesn’t  _care_ , she doesn’t  _care_  what stupid bloody Steve thinks, with her big soft blue eyes and her mouth and her  _face_ , Tony doesn’t care, she really, really doesn’t.

She’s just – just so lonely, and  _cold_ , even though the temperature down here should be just right, why is she cold, and now she has blood going everywhere and she needs to clean herself up and she just can’t, she  _can’t._  And JARVIS is saying something that Tony can't hear, she can't bear listening to JARVIS right now, and she shudders and sniffles again and presses her face pathetically into her arms.

* * *

‘Tony? Tony, hey, you okay?’

Oh, God. It’s  _Steve_ , Steve down in her workshop where Steve definitely shouldn’t be, why has JARVIS let her in, and, shit, this is the most embarrassing moment of Tony’s life, this is like seriously,  _A-level_  embarrassing, and she ought to just put her head up and smile and say she’s fine, nothing to worry about, just resting. Except when she puts her head up and tries to grin like usual, it goes all wobbly, and she  _knows_  there’s stupid tear-tracks down her cheeks, making dirty marks because she’s covered in grease. And she opens her mouth to try and say something normal, and nothing will come out except that she makes this awful, terrible little sniffling noise.

In front of  _Steve_. Oh God, oh God, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, Steve  _right there_  with her – her stupid Steve-face, and Tony’s losing it in front of her, and now Steve’s going to think she’s unstable and shouldn’t be on the team –

And now Steve’s lips are moving, and she’s saying something that Tony can’t hear over the panicked white noise her brain’s making. What, what is Steve saying? Tony’s hands are clenching and unclenching at her sides and she _can’t make them go still_ , she can’t, her hands aren’t obeying her and she’s – she’s all shaky, why, why?

But then there are hands on Tony’s shoulders, warm and firm, gripping them and shaking gently. Steve. Steve’s still there. Steve’s hands are holding onto her, anchoring, and Steve’s saying something, and this time Tony can make sense of it.

‘Hey, hey, Tony. It’s okay, look at me, Tony. Everything’s okay. Breathe, okay? Just breathe.’

Steve’s voice is quiet, but with that Captain America-ness in it, sort of commanding and reassuring at the same time; and Tony finds that she can breathe a little bit easier when Steve’s standing there telling her to do it. Tony can just about – she can find her words now, fumbling for them, and she says, ‘M’fine, okay, it’s  _nothing_ , I’ll – I’ll be upstairs just now, lunch, yeah, that’s good, just coming now, meet you up there.’

‘Tony, it’s the evening,’ Steve says, rather gently, and now her hand is rubbing little circles into Tony’s shoulder, and it feels so good,  _so good_ , and Tony just closes her eyes for a moment and leans into the touch, because she can’t help it.

‘Just need to – to,’ she whispers, and shifts awkwardly, and this is stupid, it shouldn’t be embarrassing, and yet – and yet. It’s  _Steve_ , and Steve is the sort of person who’s always clean and fresh and wholesome and has gentle hands and smells nice, like soap and cinnamon cookies. And Tony is filthy and covered in grease and grime and blood, and so it is sort of embarrassing. Like sort of very, painfully, horribly embarrassing.

‘Oh,’ says Steve, and then, ‘ _Oh._  I see,’ and hey, maybe Tony doesn’t have to spell it out after all, so she just sits there for a moment with her eyes squeezed shut, because she’s tired and embarrassed and yeah,  _bleeding from her insides_ , so she ought to be allowed a moment, really.

Steve’s hand rubs once more on her shoulder. ‘Just wait here, hey? Be back in a minute,’ she murmurs, and her hand runs gently through Tony’s short dark hair as she moves away. It sends little tingles down Tony’s back.

In a minute Steve’s back in the workshop, good as her word, and Tony risks a glance up at her through her eyelashes. Steve’s got a small pile of clothes and things under her arm; and she slips her free arm around Tony. ‘Come on,’ she says, ‘up with you. Brought you some things to change into, figured it’d be easier if you didn’t have to fetch them yourself. You look kinda awful, don’t want you flaking out.’

Her voice is wonderfully even and matter-of-fact, and her arm is strong and supporting and  _nice._  They fit together, Tony nested into the comforting curve of Steve's body, and Tony forgets about the fact that she’s dirty and horrible, and just  _leans_ , leans on Steve and smells her nice smell. Steve is great, Steve is really great, and hey, wouldn’t it be nice to just curl up into Steve and soak in it, soak in how warm and nice and soft and strong Steve is.

And then she thinks, shit,  _SHIT_ , because, God, she is  _really badly gone_  on Steve, and in a minute she’ll remember all the reasons why that is a Very Bad Thing, but for now everything’s fuzzy and soft-focused and she can’t think about it straight.

* * *

Steve takes her to the bathroom and sets the pile down on the vanity, letting go of Tony with a warm caressing slide of her palm on Tony's shoulder, just  _looking_  at Tony with those eyes, all soft and concerned and caring. It feels so good,  _too_  good, because that way leads to things that hurt, but Tony’s head is too fuzzy to care and she just looks wistfully up at Steve’s face and basks in it.

'Have a shower,' Steve says. 'I'll wait for you, hey? Get you downstairs, have something to eat. I've made cookies, the cinnamon ones you like. Then you can go to bed.'

And it should be irritating, it should be rubbing Tony right up the wrong way, all the fussing and bossing, except that it isn't, because it's so nice to have someone looking after her, just this once. And Steve smiles at her, and reaches out to brush her thumb over the dried tear tracks on Tony's cheekbone, very softly, before she leaves Tony in the bathroom.

* * *

Tony drags herself out of the shower at last. When she investigates the pile of things Steve’s left, she finds that it’s Steve’s own clothes, freshly laundered and smelling clean and soapy: soft worn jeans and a blue shirt that swamps Tony’s smaller frame. There’s a little convenience bag, too, all discreet and new and packaged up and with everything she needs in it, and Tony feels her throat nonsensically closing up hot and tight, like she might cry again, because, just, how is Steve even a real person? 

She limps out, and then Steve’s there again, smiling a little at the too-big clothes. And Steve just makes everything easy; she just says ‘Come on,’ and drags Tony out to the kitchen and pushes her gently into a seat while she makes her a big mug of chocolate with marshmallows. There’s still the little voice in Tony’s head saying she should protest about it, about all the fussing, should get herself together and look after herself. But she’s just so – so _tired_ , and the voice is just a thread, she can ignore it, and she finds her eyes drifting closed as she rests her head in her hands, propped on the table.

Clint wanders in and tries to steal the crispy cookies that Steve’s busy piling onto a plate; Tony can’t be bothered to open her eyes, but she hears his aggrieved ‘Ow!’ as Steve silently and efficiently fends him off. Then Steve’s coaxing Tony up again, herding her out to the lounge, and then Tony’s somehow curled up on the sofa with a soft blanket cuddled around her, the chocolate and cookies in easy reaching distance, and Steve sitting  _right there_ smiling at her.

Steve says, ‘Can I,’ and reaches out to curl her arm around Tony, tugging her in to fit in the crook of Steve’s shoulder. Tony snuggles slightly, and she sort of feels like a kitten or something, with Steve being all touchy-feely like this, but she’s too warm and comfortable to complain.

She sips her chocolate, her eyes heavy, and after a bit Steve starts talking in a soft voice, telling her a story about cookies and growing up and something about a spanner that Tony doesn't quite catch. Tony's drifting, drifting, Steve's voice washing over her in quiet comforting waves, and she drifts all the way into soft sleep with the sensation of Steve's fingers stroking little circles into the thin skin on the underside of her wrist.

* * *

Tony wakes, or half-wakes at least, to strong arms shifting her, hooking carefully under her knees and scooping her up to carry her against the soft pillow of someone's chest. Steve –  _Steve's_  chest, Tony thinks muzzily, and mumbles, 'Wha – wha's happ'n?'

'Shh-sh,' Steve says, 'sleep, Tony. It's okay, I got you.'

Steve's moving – Steve's  _carrying_  her – and Tony has a vague sense that she should protest, but then she drifts off again, and next thing is that Steve's got her in bed, wrapped up in something warm and soft – Steve's weight is making the mattress dip as she sits on the side – gentle fingers are stroking Tony's hair.

She turns into the touch, nestling her cheek against Steve’s hand, and slurs out, ‘S’nice,’ because it is, it is nice, nice,  _nice_ , Steve is the nicest, why can’t she have Steve always, and so she says, ‘Wann – wanna keep you. Steve Steve Steve. Nicest.’

There’s a quiet chuckle, the brush of a thumb over Tony’s cheekbone. 'Sleep well,' she hears, and then something that could almost be, ' _sweetheart,_ ' (but of course it can't, that bit must be dreaming); and then she's asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted Small!Tony and Fem!Tony and f/f, so I wrote this. Drop a comment in the box and let me know what you thought! :)  
> Chapter 2 will be coming, hopefully sooner rather than later - in which there will be more caring Steve and small Tony, and soft kisses. I promise soft kisses.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony comes gradually awake to bright mid-morning sun shafting through the curtains, feeling stiff and sore and achy, but surprisingly well-rested. She whimpers in her throat as the sunlight hits her eyes, burrowing down under layers of dark blue cotton and striped covers.

Wait –  _wait_. She doesn’t have striped covers, how awful, really, where have striped covers come from? And hey, what, curtains, her room has blinds, why are there curtains, has someone been renovating while she was asleep, what is this all doing in her room.

‘Waking up?’ someone says, bright and cheery and  _awake_ , and Tony thinks,  _What?_  and then  _oh God!_  –  _Steve_   _– bed – sleeping._  It’s not her room, it’s  _Steve’s_ , Steve’s room, and it's the morning, and, shit, was she so out to it that Steve had to bring her here, and she didn’t even notice? Oh God, had she –  _said_  anything to Steve, anything weird or creepy or – or. Shit.

Tony moans softly and crawls under the pillow. Steve’s pillow. Steve's pillow, which smells like Steve. God.

And,  _shit_ , she's bleeding, what if she's bled onto Steve's sheets, that's like a whole new level of humiliating dreadfulness, dear  _God_ , her life is tragic and awful and why, just why _._

Something clinks softly on the nightstand, snapping her out of it before she can panic too much. 'Brought you coffee,' says Steve, and there's a pause and a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder through the covers. 'You okay?'

Tony makes a mumbling noise. Now, now would be a really good time to sit up and act like an adult and apologise to Steve for taking her bed, and crawl back to her own room to recover from the embarrassment. Except, when she sneaks a one-eyed look out through a crack in the covers, Steve just looks so normal and – and kind, and the warm calming weight of Steve's hand on her back feels nice. Good. Almost like Steve doesn't mind Tony being there in her bed, and there's a thought, she’s _in Steve’s bed_. What the hell.

Steve smiles down at Tony's eye. Just – smiles, and waits, her thumb stroking a little bit on Tony's shoulder.

'Thank you,' Tony says stiffly after a moment, or as stiffly as is possible whilst curled up under a warm burrow of bedclothes. It comes out more like a croak. Steve reaches for the coffee in its bright red mug, holds it invitingly, nearly in reach, the scent of it tantalising Tony's nose, and damn, she needs to sit up if she wants coffee.

'Ngh,' Tony says, and flounders out of the covers, struggling into a position vaguely close to upright so that Steve can hand her the coffee. She touches her own knee; she's wearing jeans, still, she realises, Steve's jeans and shirt, but they're so soft and worn through that it's not uncomfortable.

'Um,' Steve says, and she sounds awkward, suddenly, and when Tony looks up at her through sleep-tangled eyelashes, Steve's face is faintly pink and she shifts self-consciously, not meeting Tony's eyes. 'Uh,' she says, 'you were – you were sleeping, so I thought – I. I didn't, you know, touch your clothes or anything. I just thought – well, your room was further away, and...' She trails off, rubbing the back of her neck.

Steve – what is even happening here, Steve's actually worried about  _protecting Tony's virtue_ , Tony realises, and she swallows hard as a great starry-eyed wave of wonderment washes up over her, because when has anyone worried about that ever?

'It's – it's fine,' she says, and her own voice surprises her, sounding soft and sleep-soaked and uncertain and  _small._ And, shit, now her face feels warm. God, she's blushing, why is she so stupid, she  _knew_ this was a bad idea, this whole  _feeling-y_  thing she's got going for Steve, a really stupid, stupid idea – and she stares miserably down into the coffee mug. 'I know you – wouldn't.'

There's a full sort of silence; and then Tony feels a knuckle touch her cheek, very gently. 'Are you sure?' Steve says quietly; and then, as Tony blinks at her, uncomprehending, she smiles down at Tony a little lopsidedly, straightening and standing up. 'Do you want to stay in bed a bit longer?'

And Tony shouldn't, she shouldn't just stay around in Steve's room, in Steve's  _bed_ , that would be weird, definitely weird and crossing boundaries and that kind of thing.

But. But, Steve still doesn't seem to mind, and Tony notices that Steve's brought one of Tony's tablets and left it angled on the table, just in easy reaching distance – and it's so very soft and warm under the dark blue sheets, and they still smell faintly, comfortingly, like Steve. And hey, Tony's only human. She snuggles gladly back down with a sigh, reaching for the tablet. 'Mm.'

When she peeps back up at Steve, Steve's standing there warm and sun-washed and lovely, looking down at Tony with the oddest expression on her face, soft-eyed. And when Tony meets her gaze, Steve just quirks the corner of her mouth up, and reaches out to slide her hand through Tony's hair before she goes.

_Huh,_  Tony thinks, and firmly pushes down on the soft, floaty, squirmy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It's no use  _imagining_  things that aren't there, because imagining things leads to hoping, and hoping takes you to places that hurt.

* * *

It's evening, and Tony wanders down to the kitchen. She's been in the workshop for hours, fixing the rotator joints on the suit's gauntlets, and she's tired again, but it's the good sort of tired, the sort of tired that comes from working and testing and tinkering with things until they're  _perfect_ , everything working smoothly and exactly right. But now her back's kind of aching, and she's starving.

The rest of the team are sprawled around the kitchen in various attitudes of laziness. Bruce sees her arrive first, giving her a gentle smile and a soft, 'Hi, Tony.'

Steve jumps off her perch on the counter, smiling at Tony, and shifts over to make space for her. Tony smiles back, feeling oddly shy; and then looks up as Clint makes a little snickering sound, crouched up on the countertop with a jar of cookies. Natasha's smirking, shaking her head as she leans gracefully back in her seat, legs crossed. Bruce smiles down at his tea. There's a snort, and Tony looks round to see Bucky rolling his eyes, bumping Clint's knee with his shoulder. 'Enough with the bedroom eyes, lovebirds. Some of us want to eat.'

'Yeah, save it, it's gross,' Clint says, grinning around a bite of cookie, because he's actually twelve, and Tony's face is going bright and hot and her throat's closed up and there's a tight panicky feeling in her chest because  _God_ , if the others have noticed her idiotic crush on Steve... shit,  _shit_.

'Bucky,  _shut up_ ,' Steve says very firmly. Tony fleetingly glances up at her; for an instant Steve's eyes are fixed on Bucky in a meaningful sort of way, lips pressed together, her jawline tight. But then she looks back at Tony and her face softens reassuringly, and she says brightly, 'right, everyone, now Tony's here, what do you all want to eat?'

Everyone gets distracted with bickering over Indian or Chinese, and Steve's in the middle of it, all laughing and warm and goofy and holding the Chinese menu out of Clint's reach while Bucky jostles her for it, and Tony knows she's staring at Steve with a dopey lovestruck look on her face but she can't seem to stop. Steve's wearing a completely ordinary blue t-shirt, but it clings and swoops breathtakingly over the perfect curve of her breast and makes something go hot and shivery deep down low in Tony's stomach. Tony takes a deep breath to pull herself together.

And then Steve meets her eyes across the table, still laughing, and it hits Tony like a bolt of electricity or something, straight into the core of her, because  _God_ , she’s in a hell of a mess now.

She's gone and _fallen_   _in love with Steve_.

* * *

Of course, no-one realises that Tony's been having an epiphany there in the corner of the bloody kitchen, so the world doesn't actually stop turning or anything. Things simply run their course as they usually would: the Chinese team (Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Tony herself) win the food dispute, and Natasha phones it in, looking both smug and slightly threatening as Bruce and Clint subside in defeat.

'If Thor were here...' Clint grouches, and then honest-to-God  _squeals_ as Bucky grabs him round the neck and noogies him. He emerges from the following struggle so bright-eyed and glowing that Tony eyes him suspiciously, eyes sliding to Bucky's wide grin and the sparkle in his grey eyes. Huh.

She glances at Steve – when did that become such a natural thing to do? – and Steve's looking at her with the corner of her mouth tipping up, jerking her head slightly in Bucky and Clint's direction. Then she winks, which makes Tony go all warm inside, and she can’t help smiling back at Steve, because God, Steve’s so beautiful like this, all warm and relaxed and soft.

They take the Chinese out to the lounge to eat it when it arrives, because to be honest they’re a bunch of overgrown teenagers who’re fine with eating straight from the box in front of the TV. Tony rushes to grab the honey sesame chicken, but Natasha somehow slides in front of her and gets to it first, sending a smug look Tony’s way.

Tony huffs, sprawling down onto the sofa in defeat, because she’s not stupid enough to try fighting Natasha for it. ‘That’s just, that’s just cheating, it _is_ , dirty cheating, who’s the one paying for everything anyway?’

‘You are,’ Natasha says lazily, ‘so you should’ve got more if you wanted any.’

‘That. That’s just incredible,’ Tony moans, ‘just great, listen to her, everyone, is there, like, any sympathy here? Can I get some sympathy? Because seriously, seriously!’

Steve perches on the sofa arm next to her and pats Tony’s shoulder. ‘Aw, honey,’ she says, half-laughing, and Tony’s mouth goes dry as she registers the long curve of Steve’s thigh brushing against her arm. She just has a dizzy moment to think how surprisingly soft it is, even through Steve’s jeans; and then Steve’s moving lightning-quick, lunging towards Natasha and snagging the sesame chicken out of her hands.

Steve’s grinning as Natasha scowls at her, moving out of reach and dropping down onto the sofa seat next to Tony with the prize. ‘My lady,’ she says, all laughing eyes and chivalry, offering the box to Tony with a flourish. And Tony can’t stop smiling even though it’s just silly, really, and Bucky and Clint are groaning quietly and rolling their eyes at each other on the other sofa, muttering ‘Aaand again,’ and ‘ _Gross,_ ’ under their breath.

Steve just tells them to shut up again, and they listen to her because, well, she’s Steve and she uses  _the voice_. And then Tony grabs the remote and flicks the TV on to whatever, so they end up watching some nature channel that also has dinosaurs, because no-one can be bothered to change it. Tony and Steve share the sesame chicken, because Tony wedges the container between their knees to save it from everyone else’s  _grabby thief hands_.

When they’re finished, Steve cracks her neck with a sigh and stretches back, one arm ending up lying across the back of the sofa behind Tony’s shoulders. Tony squeezes her eyes closed; she doesn’t expect Steve to put her arm around her like the other time, of course. That was really – that was really nice, but she was sick and only about half-conscious and she can understand why Steve had to support her  _then_ , but it’s not like Tony’s sick anymore.

She leans back, cautiously, so that she can just feel the hint of warmth from Steve’s arm, because that’s pretty acceptable, right, that’s okay, Steve’ll hardly notice.

Except. Except that Steve’s looking down at her, now, smiling in a warm pleased sort of way as though Tony’s done something to make her happy; and her arm comes off the sofa back and winds gently round Tony’s shoulder, fitting as though it was made to be there. Tony jumps, skittish, and then lets herself relax, because this is  _Steve_. She trusts Steve, and Steve’s arm feels so nice around her shoulders, even if Tony knows that it’s just Steve being warm and friendly as she always is. And yes, she feels kind of stupidly happy right now, but she decides that it’s okay if she just doesn't think too hard about anything.

Steve doesn’t have to know that Tony’s sort of fallen in love with her. It’s completely and utterly hopeless, of course, Tony knows that, but that doesn’t mean she can’t sit close into Steve’s warmth and _pretend_ , just for a bit.

* * *

They go to bed when everyone’s yawning too hard to focus on the program or anything else. Tony’s arguing loudly with Clint, something about coniferous forestation; her eyes keep slipping shut and she doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore, but she’s damned if she’s going to let Clint win. As neither her or Clint know anything about conifers, it’s probably not much point anyway, but Steve is chuckling, a warm soft solidity against Tony’s side, and Steve’s arm is tucked around her and Tony feels safe and sleep-drunkenly happy.

‘Nat’ral selection,’ Clint slurs, waving his hand flappily in the air. He yawns hugely, and Bucky snorts at him.

‘You’re asleep at the switch, Barton. Get the hell to bed.’

‘Am not. Caveman. An’ no.’

‘Get out of here before I make you. Punk.’

‘No one says that these day-ay-ay,’ Clint’s voice breaks up into another yawn. ‘Grandpa Barnacle. How’ya gonna make me?’

‘ _Watch_  me,’ Bucky growls, making threatening eyes at Clint under his brows. Clint’s chin comes up stubbornly, suddenly looking much more awake, and Tony watches in bemusement as they make several seconds of charged eye-contact.

She feels Steve shaking in silent laughter, next to her; and then Steve bends down to Tony’s ear. ‘Kissy kissy,’ she whispers, because Steve’s a total dork; and Tony can’t help shivering at the feeling of Steve’s warm breath on the shell of her ear.

‘Okay, kids.’ Natasha’s leaning slinkily back in her armchair, flicking her eyes to the ceiling, smirking almost unnoticeably. ‘Time and place. No snogging in communal areas. Calm it down.’

Tony takes a deep breath, while Clint jumps like a startled mouse. Bucky jolts too, although less noticeably. Clint’s face is pinking up, and he’s scowling at Natasha while Bucky crosses his arms, metal and flesh, tightly across his chest, totally expressionless.

‘Natasha,’ Bruce says in his soft voice; he’s trying not to laugh, and she widens her eyes at him and spreads her hands.

‘What? Ground rules.’

Tony knows she’s flushing, too, intensely aware of Steve next to her; and then Steve shifts and squeezes Tony’s shoulder very briefly, and then stands up, and Tony thinks it’s a bit like she fills the room with goldenness, drawing everyone’s gaze. God, why is she having thoughts like that?

‘I gotta sleep,’ Steve yawns. ‘So tired I could drop,’ and there’s that Steve-ness, that command, because everyone forgets about the snogging and starts standing up and saying they’re going to bed too, and seriously, why don’t they listen to Tony like that, it’s her house after all.

Steve and Tony are the last ones out of the room, and Tony looks up to see Steve smiling at her, a little crookedly. Then Steve reaches out to her, and for one wild breathless moment Tony thinks Steve's going to touch her face, cup it in her palm. But then Steve just drops her hand onto Tony's shoulder, her thumb rubbing softly across the clavicle of her neck. ‘Good night, Tony,’ she says quietly, and goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’m sorry, I lied – no soft kisses just yet, because I felt like giving them some more buildup. However, the next chapter is in the works, and launches with Steve having a nightmare slash panic attack, and Tony comforting her. So we’ll see where that goes…  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for potential triggers: minor injuries (blood).

Tony wakes at some horrible, dark, pre-dawn hour of the morning to JARVIS playing an urgent wake-up signal, bip-bip-bip-bip-bip. She makes a piteous, betrayed whimper and crawls under her pillow.

'Sir,' JARVIS says (well, she couldn't have her AI calling her  _Ma'am_ , could she, that would be ridiculous), 'You wished to be alerted in any case of the other occupants of the tower posing a risk to themselves or others. I believe Captain Rogers may currently be in such a situation.'

Tony bolts upright. 'Shit,' she croaks, 'really – Steve? JARVIS, what is it? Is she okay?'

'Captain Rogers appears to have been suffering from a lucid nightmare whilst sleepwalking. She injured her head and her hand before I was able to wake her, and is in considerable emotional distress.'

Tony's out of bed before JARVIS has finished speaking, grabbing a blanket on impulse from the end of the bed and stumbling towards the door. JARVIS turns the passage lights on so she can see where she's going, but it seems impossibly far to Steve's rooms. God, what if Steve's... JARVIS said she'd hurt her head, but how badly? Is she concussed?

She hesitates for a bare second by Steve's door, unsure if she should knock, but then JARVIS makes the decision for her, smoothly swinging the door open in front of her. And if Steve’s not able to come and open it herself… Tony's heart is pounding, high and frightened in her throat, as she pushes open the inner door to Steve's bedroom.

It's a mess. There's an upturned chair with a missing leg, a big gaping fist-sized smash in the wall. Broken glass spreading out across the floor, mingled with bruised iris stalks and crushed flowers: a smashed vase. The water has splashed all up the wall. The bedcovers and sheets are wildly strewn, half trailed off the bed, and Steve herself is kind of pitifully tangled up in them, curled up in a ball on the floor.

'Oh, my God,  _Steve_ ,' Tony says, and she's not thinking, she just drops down on her knees next to Steve on the floor because God,  _Steve_ , Steve should be happy and dorky and so, so warm, not scrunched and broken on the floor. Tony reaches out to touch her arm, and then springs back, because Steve jerks and lashes out blindly, her head wrenching up, her eyes red and frantic and unseeing, a sticky red graze at her temple.

'Steve,' Tony says loudly, and something in her chest is aching, it  _hurts_ so much to see Steve's face like that. 'Steve.  _Steve._  It's me, Tony. Oh God. It's okay, please, you're safe, it's me,' and something goes  _on_  in Steve's face and she's seeing properly again, her face quivering. 'Steve,' Tony says again, and now it sounds like  _she's_  crying.

' _Tony,_ ' Steve rasps, and she slams forward and Tony grabs her and then Steve's face is mashed into her chest, Steve's whole body trembling against her. Tony wraps her arms tightly around Steve's shoulders, as tightly as she can, and then Steve's trembling turns into shaking and then, shitshitshit, Steve is crying, deep slow wracking sobs into Tony's chest, as though she's trying her hardest to stop but just  _can't_. Tony holds on to her fiercely, as though she can make everything right if she's only strong enough, if she only holds on firmly enough.

After a bit Steve shudders and chokes out, 'God, m'sorry.' Tony squeezes tighter, because she's so out of her depth here, she doesn't even know how to deal with her own nightmares, let alone someone else's, and all she can think to do is just hold onto Steve. Steve's slumped so that her hair is just below Tony's chin, bright gold, sleep-mussed and silky-soft; and Tony tilts her head and rests her cheek in it, nestling a little, and she dares to drop a kiss there, soft and secret and so gentle that it aches.

Steve's crying calms, after a bit. Tony goes on holding her until Steve moves, straightening up a little. But then Steve's arms come around Tony, and she’s holding on, now, warm hands clutching at Tony’s back, her forehead coming to rest on Tony’s shoulder. Tony turns her head against Steve’s, listening to Steve’s heavy uneven painful breaths, and it _hurts_.

‘I –’ Steve gets out, and then snuffles and sort of quivers and tries again. ‘Tony, I – m’sorry… don’t know what – woke you. Last thing I wanted was to bother you, _heck,_ Tony, I’m so – sorry,’ and Tony strokes a hesitant hand up and down the long graceful line of Steve’s back, her throat going all tight and painful and aching.

‘Shit, don’t be – you don’t have to _apologise_ , it’s not your fault, _God_ , Steve, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you,’ she whispers, a long garbled stream of stupid words, and she _always_ uses too many words, why can’t she shut up already, she’s going to make Steve cry again, she’s making a mess of it already.

Except. Except, Steve is curling closer, and she’s – is she shivering a bit less? And then, just as Tony’s clenching down on her jaw to stop it from opening and doing words again, Steve says, huskily but calmer, ‘Tony. Can you – can you go on talking. Please. Need to – just need to hear.’ Steve trails off, and wow, that’s new, that’s just weird, Steve’s asking her to _keep_ talking, so Tony opens her mouth and talks.

‘Okay, okay, talking, right, I can do that, anything you need me to do, God, that’s weird, mostly everyone can’t wait till I shut up, but yeah, whatever, God, Steve, I’m sorry, I’ve got you, not going anywhere,’ she blurts out, and incredibly, the tension is slowly draining out of Steve’s body as Tony holds her.

‘It’s good. Hearing you talk,’ Steve says very softly when Tony stops for breath. ‘Never – never want you to shut up, Tony.’ And Tony blinks hard, because are there _tears_ in her eyes? No, that’s too strange, no tears. But she turns her face into Steve’s hair, hiding, breathing in the faint clean smell of it.

* * *

Somehow they make it up off the floor, and Tony guides Steve back so she’s sitting on the bed, an odd fierce wave of protectiveness surging through her as she sees Steve’s blotchy face and the tears clinging onto her thick lovely lashes. ‘Hey, hey, wait,’ she says, and grabs the box of tissues from the nightstand. Steve sort of just stares at it for a moment, so Tony says, ‘you can, you know, blow your nose. I mean, if you want to, if you don’t it doesn’t matter, I’ll just take the box away,’ and then wants to hit herself on the head to stop all the words.

But Steve glances up, and sort of laughs, a sort of sniffle-laugh, but still a laugh, and says, ‘Yeah. Yeah, I should – I should do that. Thanks,’ and grabs a handful of tissues and blows into them hard. Then she clears her throat, and looks up at Tony properly, and her face is still blotched and pink, but she looks like _Steve_ again, and Tony sags in relief.

Steve reaches out and takes her hand, pulling a little, and Tony comes forward in a rush to sit next to her on the bed. And Steve just leans against her, so Tony leans back a little; and then Steve’s head is resting on her shoulder and their arms are all twined round each other again and it’s actually – it’s _good_.

It seems a long time they sit there, silent, soaking in each other’s warmth. After a while, Tony hooks up the blanket she’d dragged along with her, pulling it awkwardly around Steve’s shoulders; and Steve somehow shifts and gets the blanket around both of them so they’re in a warm sort of cocoon. Tony exhales, like a sigh, feeling Steve’s strong heartbeat where she’s slumped low against Tony’s body.

‘Had a dream,’ Steve says finally, her voice low against Tony’s shoulder. ‘Not the good sort.’

Tony opens her mouth, closes it again, repeats, because everything that crosses her mind to say seems worse than the last. She wishes _so badly_ that she was more like Steve, the sort of normal kind _good_ person who would know what to say, how to comfort. But she’s not, she’s just Tony, but she has to say something. ‘Yeah,’ she mumbles, ‘yeah, I have – I have them too. Dreams. Bad ones. I – I think I’m back in Afghanistan, and – and there’s water, and they – they do things and I can’t stop it, can’t stop any of it, and I know it’s all my fault,’ and she snaps her mouth closed because what the hell is she thinking, Steve’s just had her own nightmare, the last thing that she wants is to hear Tony’s.

‘I dream about – water, too,’ Steve whispers. ‘I’m flying, and then I’m crashing, and then – there’s water. So much water, and it’s – so _cold_. Freezing – _Tony_.’ She’s fumbling, her hand coming up to cling to Tony’s shoulder, twisting round to bring them chest to chest; and Tony can’t help it, she brushes her lips against the side of Steve’s face, wrapping her arms closer.

Shit, that’s not – her kissing Steve isn’t platonic, not at all, even if it’s just Steve’s face, Tony realises belatedly; there’s a second of bright panic, but then Steve makes a soft sound, almost content, resting her forehead against Tony’s cheek. Steve must have not noticed, or not read into it, or something. Tony exhales softly with something that’s a bit like relief, or maybe heartache.

Something’s sticky, where Steve’s temple is pressed against her cheek. Tony brings up a searching hand, not thinking, then jerks it away when Steve flinches, realising that the stickiness is partly-dried blood. ‘Shit, sorry, sorry!’ she says quickly. God, she’s so awful at this caring thing, she hasn’t even checked Steve for injuries; and worry stabs sharply at her gut. ‘Can I look?’

Steve pulls back obligingly; her eyes are starting to look heavy, and shitshitshit, isn’t sleepiness a sign of concussion? ‘JARVIS, med-scan, now,’ Tony says sharply.

‘Right away, Sir,’ JARVIS says soothingly, and then, after a moment, ‘Cerebral scan clear for Captain Rogers. Surface laceration at temple, stitching not estimated to be required. Deep tissue bruising and lacerations to right hand; Captain Rogers’ accelerated healing is in progress. Bruising to left shoulder and back, extensive but already healing. Sleepiness due to simple exhaustion.’

Tony untenses, because it sounds like Steve’s going to be okay. She gentles her hold on Steve’s bruised shoulder, though, reaching to find Steve’s right hand and pull it gently forwards so she can see. The knuckles are broken all the way across, but considering the smash in the wall, that’s not a surprise. Tony cradles it tenderly; Steve’s hand is larger than hers, beautifully shaped with a square capable palm and long fingers, and it feels surprisingly soft. Next to it, Tony’s own looks small and wiry and brown, nail-bitten and slightly chapped.

‘These should – they need cleaning,’ Tony hesitates. ‘Can I…?’

‘Yeah,’ Steve murmurs, and she squeezes Tony’s hand a little. ‘Thank you, Tony.’

Right. Right, first aid, that’s all good, Tony can do that at least. She darts over to the bathroom, already pulling out the first aid kit as Steve tells her where to find it. Steve’s feeling at her broken temple with her uninjured hand when Tony comes back, and Tony pushes her hand away. ‘No, hey, don’t, don’t touch it, come on, that’s the sort of thing _I_ get in trouble for, you’re better than that,’ she scolds, and Steve blinks and chuckles a bit. Tony slips under her arm, supporting her across to Steve’s cosy little kitchenette.

‘Tony. Tony, love, I can walk,’ Steve says, sounding a bit more like herself, and Tony freezes for a split second, because – _love?_ She swallows hard, and there’s a lovely warm feeling inside her that she’s trying very hard not to acknowledge. It’s just a figure of speech, of course, a simple expression, it’s not that Steve, you know, _actually_ loves her or anything.

But it still sits warm and sweet in her chest: _Tony, love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love these two darlings so much. Next chapter: Tony cleans Steve up and wants very much to lick her. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: references to self-harm.

Steve steers herself onto a stool at the kitchenette, squeezing Tony’s wrist, smiling at her a little bit, lopsided. Tony wants to kiss her, but she doesn’t, she just grins back at Steve and looks away, fingers busying themselves with the first aid kit.

Steve’s forehead might not need stitches, but it looks a mess: a big broken red patch, blood smeared into Steve’s golden eyebrows and matting her hair. Tony washes her hands, gets a bowl and fills it with lukewarm water, drips in the dark red antiseptic, watching it swirl and cloud and colour the water.

When she glances up, Steve’s watching her. ‘You’ve done this before,’ she says.

Tony swallows. Yeah, she’s done this before, lots of times. Cleaned and patched up her own injuries from horrible self-loathing drunken benders, scrapes and grazes and gouges methodically cleaned and patched over so that no-one will see the damage. There’s no way in _hell_ she’s going to tell Steve that, though, so she just says, lightly (too lightly), ‘Yeah.’

She finds cotton wool in a packet in the kit, dunks some in the bowl, scrounges up a gauze pad to catch the drips. ‘Ready?’ she asks, and Steve looks at her with soft eyes and twists her head so that Tony can reach the wound more easily.

Tony dabs at Steve’s temple with a wad of sodden cotton wool, very gently, certainly much more gently than she’s ever been with herself. She carefully dampens the dried blood in Steve’s hair, cleaning it away; wipes at the red smears around the edges, strokes Steve’s hair softly away from her forehead so that it doesn’t catch in the wound. She can just smell Steve’s own warm sweet scent under the bitey aroma of antiseptic and the slight tang of blood. Steve always smells so good.

Tony suddenly thinks how _nice_ it would be to nuzzle into Steve’s neck, breathe in the Steve-scent, lick at Steve’s pulse with the tip of her tongue.

She shouldn’t – she shouldn’t be having thoughts like that, about _licking_ Steve, even if Steve does look like the most lickable thing in the world right now, warm and soft and delicious, rumpled, watching Tony with that soft, soft look in her eyes. Tony wets her lips and drags her eyes away from the point of Steve’s pulse. ‘O-okay,’ she says, and God, is she stuttering a bit? ‘That’s – I think that’s done, I don’t want to, to cover it up, it’s better if it’s exposed to the air, um. Can I – your hand?’

Shit, she’s blushing, she can feel it, face and neck hot, hot, hot, and she keeps catching little glimpses of Steve’s _stupid_ lickable collarbones, every time she tries to look up. It’s not appropriate, not even a little bit, God, Steve’s just had a _nightmare_ and _cried_ , what kind of – of horrible insensitive person is Tony to be even thinking about anything like that?

There’s a gentle hand in her hair. Steve’s hand. Steve strokes Tony’s short curls behind her ear, and says, ‘Tony. You okay?’

When Tony drags her eyes up, _past_ Steve’s collarbones to her face, Steve smiles a bit. Tony thinks she probably gets stars in her eyes every time Steve smiles at her, and this time – well. Steve’s eyes are blue, blue like, well, the sky – and her eyelashes are still a bit damp, clinging together in the sweetest little spikes, and her mouth is soft and so terribly kissable. Tony takes a deep breath and nibbles her lip. ‘I’m – yeah,’ she stumbles, and God, why? Why can’t she just be smooth and charming with Steve – hell, even just _normal_ when she talks to her?

Steve goes on stroking her hair, one-handed, her fingers raking soothingly through Tony’s curls. Tony leans into the touch, just a very little, taking Steve’s damaged hand carefully in her own, cradling it as she starts to clean it up as well.

‘Thank you, Tony,’ Steve says after a bit. Her voice is quiet. ‘I mean – for all of this. For coming over. Everything. Patching me up. You’re – pretty great, you know that?’

Tony’s stupid heart does a big _leap_ at that, at the way Steve’s voice goes quiet and melting at the last, and she darts a glance up at Steve through her eyelashes. God, Steve’s so _nice_ , so stupidly, stupidly _nice_ , what’s someone like Tony even supposed to _do_ with that?

She settles on laughing awkwardly. ‘Uh, nah, really not that great at all, just ask – well, anyone.’ It’s supposed to be light and deflecting, but Tony realises after the words are out that her voice had been rather small, and bleak, and God, that’s just _embarrassing_. She lowers her eyes and gently cleans away the last traces of dried blood from the edges of Steve’s broken knuckles. Steve’s hand has gone still in her hair, and she wishes Steve would start petting her again.

But then Steve’s hand is sliding back over Tony’s curls until it’s cupping the back of Tony’s neck. Tony goes very still. Steve’s injured hand turns over in Tony’s, Steve’s fingers coaxing at Tony’s own until they’re twined gently together. Tony is – she’s trembling, why, why is she trembling.

‘Hey,’ Steve says in a soft voice. ‘Tony. Look at me.’ Her fingertips stroke at the hair at Tony’s neck, Steve’s palm warm and steady on Tony’s nape, her thumb rubbing little circles in her skin. Tony sucks in a long fortifying breath and makes herself look back at Steve’s face.

‘I mean it,’ Steve says earnestly. ‘You really are, Tony. This – and everything else. Sharing your home with us. All the things you make for everyone, without anyone even asking sometimes. And you – don’t get thanked for _anything_ , but you still do it – and it’s not right, how no-one ever says thank you.’

Tony doesn’t know quite what to do. She’s blushing, hot, all over her face and down her neck, beneath Steve’s hand, trying to grasp for something, anything to say in response to Steve’s astonishing speech – but. It’s just – God. What is she supposed to – to _do_ with that, that kind of sincerity, cause, yeah, wow. Her mouth keeps opening and shutting.

Steve squeezes her fingers, and there’s a sweet, sweet look on her face and those soft eyes, and for a crazy moment Tony thinks Steve’s going to kiss her. But then Steve’s arm slips down from her neck, curling warm and strong around Tony’s back, drawing her in close to her chest and cuddling her there. Steve’s wearing an ancient old soft T-shirt, worn thin and threadbare, and Tony buries her nose in it, in the soft place by Steve’s shoulder, sniffing in Steve’s warm nice smell.

It’s _so_ nice, Tony thinks, the best thing ever. Steve’s chin is hooked over Tony’s head, her cheek rubbing softly back and forth in Tony’s hair, her hands on Tony’s back, snuggling her close. It feels really weirdly _safe,_ as though she’s enclosed on all sides by Steve-ness. Safe like being in a warm blanket or the suit or something, just nicer even than that, because Steve’s _there._ And she’s actually – she’s _cuddling_ Tony, which means, _probably_ means, anyway, that Steve actually wants to be doing it, touching Tony and holding her, even if it’s just because of the nightmare and everything, and, and it’s just the _best_.

And it’s really stupid that there’s a big hard lump thing in Tony’s throat just now, and that her eyes are going all blinky, because there’s no goddamn _reason_ for her to feel like bursting into tears. She pushes her face into Steve’s shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut, and breathes through it, and Steve holds her.

* * *

Steve brings Tony flowers that afternoon.

She actually brings Tony flowers. A beautiful big bunch of blue irises and red carnations in a box with a gold ribbon, very, very Steve-like. Tony, of course, is down in the workshop, tinkering, and then JARVIS says, ‘Captain Rogers is outside the door requesting access, Sir,’ and Tony’s heart does that big _leap_ that she’s starting to associate with Steve.

‘Okay, yeah, let her in, J,’ she says eagerly, and bounces out from behind the workbench, pushing back the short curls that have stuck to the dampness of her forehead. Something smears beneath her fingers, and Tony suddenly glances down at herself and realises that, shit, _shit_ she’s a mess, sweaty and covered in black smudges of grease and wearing an ancient tank top and stained jeans, and God, why had she told JARVIS to let Steve in, that was, that was a shitty decision –

‘Hi, Tony,’ Steve says.

Tony’s head snaps up and she tries ineffectually to wipe the grease off her face, blurting, ‘holy shit, Steve,’ and then, ‘God, I’m a mess, sorry about this, just, I get covered in, covered in this stuff.’

‘Hey, it’s fine,’ Steve says quickly, and that’s when Tony registers the flowers, and what the hell, why didn’t JARVIS warn her about this, this is another one of those tragic moments where she spectacularly messes everything up, and her heart drops down, down, down, and it – it just hurts, after this morning.

And then Steve smiles at her, a little bit lopsided, a little bit shy, and it somehow _does_ something inside Tony so that her heart bounces back to its proper place and everything steadies itself again. She registers that, after all, it’s just a little bit of grease, and Steve doesn’t look surprised or put off, just a little bit awkward holding such a big bunch of flowers.

‘These are for you,’ Steve says, looking down at the flowers, and, are her cheeks pinking up a little bit? ‘I wanted to bring them. Because of this morning.’ She raises her eyelashes and gives Tony one of those breathtaking looks, steady and sweet.

‘I… wow,’ Tony stutters.

‘As a thankyou,’ Steve goes on softly, and then she bites her lip, ‘and. And because – well, I really do think you’re pretty great.’

‘So, so,’ Tony blurts out, ‘I mean. You’re – I, are we, like – friends?’

‘What,’ Steve says blankly. A little confused wrinkle appears between her eyebrows.

Tony’s heart plummets. Shit, way to go, Stark, make everything awkward because you’ve got a crush, _God_ , now what happens, she knew it, she always ruins everything, absolutely everything. ‘Sorry,’ she says quickly, miserably, ‘that was weird, don’t know why I said that, just ignore me.’

But then Steve makes a little huffing sound that’s almost like a laugh, and she says gently, ‘No, that’s. Yeah, we’re friends, of course we’re friends, Tony. Didn’t you –? I mean, if you _want_ to be, of course.’

‘Yes!’ Tony says. ‘I mean, yeah, I, that’d be great, I want to, if you. I mean. _Yeah_ ,’ and she can’t stop grinning up at Steve, but that’s okay because Steve’s smiling too, with her eyes all crinkled fondly at the edges in that way that makes Tony’s stomach flip and lurch happily.

Steve’s mouth opens as though she wants to say something else, and then her eyes move over Tony’s face, searching, and she seems to change her mind, her smile turning oddly wry, rueful. Tony can’t quite make it out. ‘Steve?’ she’s just starting to say, uncertainly, and then Steve glances down and seems to realise she’s still holding the flowers. She laughs a bit, looking back up at Tony.

‘Sorry. I probably should’ve asked where you wanted these, instead of just bringing them down.’

‘No,’ Tony says, jumping up in relief at having something to do, ‘no, here’s good, really good, I’ll just move these –’ and she pushes and rearranges things on the bench so that there’s a space for the box of flowers. ‘There!’

Steve sets it carefully down. Then she turns so she’s facing Tony full-on, and they’re – _shit_ , Tony thinks with a vague sense of panic, they’re really close, and Steve’s eyes are looking _in_ like she can see all the way through Tony’s layers and shells, all the way to the thumping heart inside her, too much, too much all at once. Tony’s biting down on her bottom lip, painfully hard. She doesn’t know whether to lurch back or forward.

Then Steve’s hands come up slowly to rest on her bared shoulders, and she says in that quiet, quiet voice, ‘Is this okay?’ And Tony nods, jerkily; and Steve strokes her, palms caressing in gentle circles over the curves of her shoulders, thumbs tracing the edge of her top. Tony’s breath goes uneven, shaky, at the feel of it, at the way Steve’s eyes catch and hold her own.

After a minute, Steve’s hands smooth down Tony’s arms and fall away. Her pupils are huge and dark and dilated, Tony notices hazily, and her lips are parted slightly; they’re so _soft_. Tony can’t stop looking at them, at the way they quiver slightly with each tiny breath Steve takes.

‘Oh, _God_ , Tony, you’re so,’ Steve says; her voice is rough and strange and she breaks off whatever she was going to say with a little breathless cracked laugh. ‘You’re so… I should. I should go.’ She hesitates, and then she’s reaching out, and touching a knuckle very gently to Tony’s cheek before she strides away.

* * *

When Steve’s gone, Tony sits down very quickly, because her legs just seem to wobble and give way. She can’t think about anything straight. All Steve had done was touch her bare shoulders, what the hell is even happening here, it doesn’t make sense, shoulders!

She looks at the flowers, focuses on a single blue iris, making herself do the deep breathing and conscious relaxing that they’d taught her, calming techniques to manage her panic attacks. Except it’s not exactly a panic attack, it’s just – Steve. God, _Steve_. What was Steve – why had she –?

The iris is very blue. Steve’s eyes are blue. Hothouse flowers, it’s nearly Christmas, where had Steve got these anyway? She must have gone out – Tony’s imagination streaks ahead, Steve going and ordering flowers, choosing them – for Tony!

And Steve had – had touched her, touched her gently, wonderfully, and God, Tony doesn’t know what it all means. She doesn’t – she just can’t, it’s too much to get clear in her mind, too messy, completely different from the calculations and equations and diagrams that come easily, smoothly. Far away in the back of her mind there’s a furious alarm going, the urgent warning bell of a bruised little heart that cautions loss and fear and abandonment. It’s hazy, muted by the floating exhilaration from Steve’s touch, but it’s there, always there.

But still. Steve. Tony reaches out and touches a petal with the tip of her finger; she can’t stop the big wondering grin that bursts over her face, but then, there’s only JARVIS to see.

 _Steve_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Steve, Tony is very clueless about this whole thing!
> 
> Next chapter will contain a Christmas party, and, finally, a first kiss! You can read this first kiss from Steve's POV [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8954182), and there is also beautiful fanart for it by [kaitovsheiji](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitovsheiji/pseuds/kaitovsheiji), [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9282791)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured at least Tony and Steve could get some sweet kisses and cuddling for Valentine's Day. :)
> 
> Also, Tony is a total excited child when it comes to Christmas. ;) I have a vague headcanon about this, involving Tony's childhood and the Avengers and Iron Woman's little baby kid fans, but that's a story for a different day.

It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas, and Christmas is fun, and they’re having a party, _Tony’s_ party, it’s going to be good, good, good and almost all of the people Tony likes are coming and none of the boring grumpy people she doesn’t like. Like Agent Coulson.

Okay, whatever, Steve, Agent Coulson isn’t _that_ bad, fine, Tony’ll even admit that she missed him a tiny little bit when they, you know thought he was dead and everything, and maybe it’s a little bit shit that he can’t come, but like everyone else will be there and it’s going to be the Party Of The Year.

Thor’s bringing Darcy, who’s cool and _funny_ even if she’s pretty rubbish at science, and Tony thinks Darcy would be really great with Bruce because Bruce is also awesome and really needs someone to make him laugh, they’d be _perfect_ for each other. Not that Tony’s matchmaking or anything.

Oh, and Rhodey! And Pepper! Both coming! And both of them have promised not to bring any work along to the party! Tony’s going to tease Pep _so hard,_ she’s going to, she’s allowed, because ha, Pepper and Natasha have been texting _all the time_ lately _,_ and Tony knows, she knows something’s going on and she is making a pre-New Year’s resolution to find out before Pepper goes home.

It is totally going to be the best ever party. There’s a tree, a really great tree and everyone had helped decorate it together, and Dummy and Butterfingers and You had helped put up tinsel everywhere (even if some of the stuff did end up in weird places like the shower cubicle and inside the microwave). Tony had tried to get Dummy to make punch, too, but Dummy had put machine oil in it, which was a horrible waste and Tony would totally donate that useless bot to a city college except that it was Christmas.

Anyway, Darcy and Thor were making punch to bring, which would be way better, because they were Darcy and Thor and they were experts in punch-making. And there would be lots of it. Thor had been talking about a rain barrel.

* * *

Clint makes the microwave explode because he didn’t notice the tinsel inside. His eyebrows get singed and when Tony can’t stop laughing he swears and rants and threatens to get into the workshop and smash those damn stupid bots.

Luckily Bucky’s around, because he and Clint are literally glued together these days, and he bear-wrestle-hugs Clint into a better mood, and then they lounge around and eat chips and pass tools for Tony as she fixes the microwave.

Thor trips over the TV – yeah, Tony’s not sure quite how that happens either, she was busy with her head in the microwave. There’s a huge crash and a high-pitched squeal and then an uproar; Tony hears Steve laughing so hard she can barely breathe, and her stomach does a little uncertain excited flip. She wishes she could go and see what’s happening, bask in Steve and the way her eyes crinkle up at the corners and close completely when she laughs.

Tony’s in the middle of the wiring, so she can’t go and watch. But she listens to Steve’s wonderful laugh, and seeing as her head’s in the microwave, she doesn’t bother to stop herself from smiling.

* * *

The punch is really _good._

And ha, Bruce is talking to Darcy! Well, Darcy is talking to Bruce. But Bruce is laughing and looking happy, and Tony thinks that Darcy looks kind of cute in her Christmas jumper and big specs, so she tells her and Darcy’s pleased. Tony’s got her own Christmas jumper on, too, a nice one, silky cashmere in a Steve sort of blue, with little sparkly snowflakey speckles all over it. Darcy likes it as well. Bruce is laughing at them, so Tony hits him on the head with a Christmas cracker.

She steals a sip of Rhodey’s drink. It’s nice; orangey and smooth. Rhodey pulls her in for an affectionate half-hug, and Tony cuddles into him happily, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Hey, sis,’ Rhodey says, and tugs gently at her hair. ‘Sst. Steve’s watching you,’ he adds very quietly, into her ear, and Tony jumps and stiffens.

‘Wait, what, no,’ she whispers urgently, and then, ‘is she… is she really, Rhodey? Look again, can you look again?’

Rhodey shakes his head. ‘God, you’re an idiot, Tony,’ he hisses back. ‘ _Of bloody course_ she is! She always does, and so do you! Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.’

‘I, I maybe didn’t know that. I,’ Tony says vaguely. She’s peeking over Rhodey’s shoulder to look at Steve, standing on her own at the side of the room.

Steve’s face is soft, washed in the warm Christmassy light. She’s just standing there, at ease, looking around at everyone, her hair glinting golden. She’s so – _beautiful_ , it makes something hurt beneath Tony’s breastbone, a deep kind of ache, painful but _good_ , too.

Rhodey squeezes her arm and then gives her a little push. ‘Go on,’ he says softly. ‘Go talk to her. Say Merry Christmas. Go!’

Steve’s smiling a little, now, and looking right at Tony. And it’s like she’s a light and Tony’s a moth or something, because Tony finds she’s moving towards her. It just happens like that. Steve’s warm and bright and Tony wants to get closer to her, and her legs just do a thing without checking with her first.

Steve’s eyes are so soft and bright, and her smile’s so lovely that it makes Tony’s own mouth want to tip up into a smile, too. She looks up at Steve through her eyelashes. ‘Hey Steve!’ she says, ‘do you want, you should try the punch, Darcy and Thor brought it, it’s really…’

And then she forgets everything she was about to say. Oh, God. Steve’s, Steve’s _looking_ at her, looking into her – into her eyes, and she can’t think of words and for once her mouth isn’t just randomly babbling to fill the void. Her words have just stopped, dried up.

Steve’s face – Steve’s face is really _unbearably_ soft, and her eyes are very blue, beautiful blue, and she’s smiling and it feels like the sun. ‘Hi Tony,’ she says, and runs the pink tip of her tongue over soft, sweet lips, and Tony can’t look away from Steve’s lips and face and eyes.

Then Steve says – Steve says –

‘Uh, that’s – mistletoe,’ Steve says softly. ‘Above us. Above you and me.’

And Tony’s mouth falls open, and she can’t stop staring, staring, staring up into Steve’s face in disbelief.

‘ _Oh,_ ’ she says in a tiny thread of a voice. ‘ _Oh.’_

And then – oh God, and then Steve’s, Steve’s tipping her chin with fingers so gentle that Tony wants to cry, and she can’t – she can’t _quite_ believe it, but she’s tipping her face up towards Steve, wonderful perfect Steve, and Steve’s bending down towards her lips.

And Steve kisses her – kisses her! – sweetly, carefully, tenderly, not just a mistletoe kiss, a _real_ kiss, realer than anything, and Tony trembles and kisses back, feeling the lovely softness of Steve’s lips, the gentle way Steve’s arms curve round her waist and hold her close. Then Tony makes a little helpless sound, _Steve_ , and the kiss turns into Tony burrowing into Steve’s chest, resting her face in the delicious soft spot in the centre, breathing in Steve’s warm scent and trying very hard not to hyperventilate.

 _God._ She can’t think, she can’t think, and everything’s spinning except Steve, who’s solid and warm, soft and strong and holding her as though she’s – as though Tony’s _precious_. It makes Tony feel suddenly, dreadfully, like crying. God, Steve’s face is in her hair, nestling there and breathing in – _shit_ , keep it together, don’t cry, _don’t cry_.

‘Merry Christmas, Tony,’ Steve whispers. Her breath is warm and soft on Tony’s temple, and Tony nestles closer because it feels so _safe_ there in the circle of Steve’s arms, and she can’t help it, she catches a sob in her throat.

But Steve doesn’t seem to mind, she just holds her closer and whispers, ‘Tony, Tony,’ into her hair, and kisses Tony’s temple and strokes her back soothingly. And everything’s bright and spinning and beautiful, and Tony lets herself believe, just this once, that it’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read Steve's take on the mistletoe kiss in my story [Mistletoe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8954182).
> 
> The lovely [kaitovsheiji](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitovsheiji/pseuds/kaitovsheiji) did some beautiful, beautiful art for the kiss which you can find [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9282791) and makes me very happy! Please go and look at her darling curly-haired Tony and Steve and shower her with praise!
> 
> Next chapter: Tony finally gets to lick Steve. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Steve walks Tony to her room, that night, holding her hand.

Tony’s almost floating. Her words aren’t working properly, but she keeps looking at Steve and every time Steve catches her eye her face goes all soft and tender and she squeezes Tony’s hand, encased gently in her own, leading Tony along. It’s so lovely Tony doesn’t know what to do, and she feels like she should be saying something, but for once she can’t get anything out so she just settles on  _looking_ , and Steve smiles at her and seems to understand anyway.

Steve stops outside Tony’s room. And Tony would – she wouldn’t mind, she’d do  _anything_ , anything Steve wanted. But Steve’s smile is sweet, and when she bends to cover Tony’s lips with her own, it’s gentle and chaste.  _Respectful_ , Tony realises, Steve’s being respectful, and God, she needs to stop feeling like bursting into tears at every little thing that makes Steve wonderful.

‘Merry Christmas, Tony,’ Steve whispers when she pulls away, and brushes warm cherishing lips against Tony’s forehead one more time, fingers slipping gently through Tony’s curls.

And Tony goes into her room and flops on her bed in a happy disbelieving daze, and when, much later, she falls asleep, it’s to the remembered slide of Steve’s fingers in her hair, and Steve’s kiss on her temple.

* * *

‘Captain Rogers has just left an envelope outside your door,’ JARVIS informs her, and Tony, who’s stumbling out of the bathroom in a daze of happy anticipation of seeing Steve and unwrapping presents round their tree, stops dead in her tracks as though something’s reached in and squeezed the heart in her chest. What possible reason could Steve have for leaving a note instead of coming in, except – except…

‘What – no,’ she whispers, half to JARVIS, half to herself. ‘Not – already, no, really?’ She feels sick, because she – she might have known, know it couldn’t last, not even twenty-four hours, of course it couldn’t. What had she been thinking –  _Steve_ , who could do so very much better than Tony.

She should – she’d been so  _stupid_ , letting herself think that everything was lovely and good and might stay that way. Tony grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut to hold the tears back. It’s not Steve’s fault, of course, she can’t blame Steve. The letter will be kind, of course, very gentle, but it will say that Steve is so very sorry, she’s had time to think things through and she’s realised it could never work. It might say ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ but Tony knows what that means really.

She opens the door, and there it is, just a little white envelope, with ‘Tony’ written on the front in Steve’s flowing old-time handwriting; and Tony bites at her fist to hold back a little wounded sound.

Tony picks the envelope up with fumbling fingers, trying to screw up the courage to turn it over and open it, because – because it’s easier to rip a band-aid off quickly. But at that moment, of all things, the morning silence shatters with the emergency call to assemble. And Tony shoves Steve’s note deep in her pocket, shoves the hurt down just as deep inside, and suits up. The world needs Iron Woman, not Tony Stark and her stupid, _stupid_ bruised heart.

‘Sir, I believe you may be mistaken as to the nature…’ JARVIS is saying, urgently, but Tony isn’t listening.

* * *

They’re fighting a kind of army of self-replicating metal crabs, which someone thought was a good idea to unleash on Christmas Day. Steve’s on the comms, steady as ever, calling directions on their plan of attack. Somewhere, locked away inside, a part of Tony is aching and aching, but Iron Woman is in control, not Tony Stark.

They fight their way through, and Tony dismantles the ingenious crab hive mind in seven minutes while Steve subdues the psychopathic robotics genius behind it. With the hive mind out of the picture, the crabs stop replicating at every blow, but it takes a long time nonetheless to get them all rounded up. When they regroup, it’s late afternoon, they’re all battered and weary, and Tony, for her part, is  _starving_.

And then she looks up and there’s Steve, looking at her, and Steve’s face is covered by the mask but her mouth is soft and her eyes are blue and intense behind the eye-slits, and Tony, who’s managed to almost forget the letter in the clean bright focus of battle, reels as remembrance comes sweeping back in a messy tangle of emotion.

She can’t – she  _can’t_  stay there and listen to Steve’s voice. God, she’d  _known_ it couldn’t ever actually be a thing, she’s so stupid, it would hurt so much  _bloody less_  if she hadn’t cracked and let herself be swept up in the moment with Steve, let Steve kiss her and, and,  _hold_  her –

Tony  _can’t._  She takes off, ignoring the surprised voices of the others, and swoops back in the direction of the tower. She just catches Steve’s voice, shocked, surprised, saying ‘Tony? Are you alr-’ and then switches off the comms, shutting it all out.

* * *

Steve’s waiting at the landing pad, somehow, her hair mussed from her helmet, her face concerned. Tony stares at her for a second, then sees Thor standing behind her. He must have flown Steve there, and it’s his worried, kind expression that tips Tony over the edge, tears stinging at her eyes behind the impassive faceplate. She pauses the auto-disarming bots, because she  _needs_  the armour right now.

‘Just – just leave me alone, o-okay?’ Tony says, and the modulator isn’t enough to disguise the shake in her voice. Steve makes a sharp sort of sound and steps quickly forward; Tony recoils.

‘Tony, hey. What’s wrong?’ Steve says urgently. ‘You weren’t answering the comms, you raced back here… Are you hurt? – God, Tony, if you’re hurt, tell me!’

‘You are scaring us, friend,’ Thor adds quietly.

‘It’s  _nothing_ ,’ Tony insists, and, great, her voice is going high and choky and she – she has to go. She lifts off and zooms down into the building; there’s some sort of stupid rule someone made about not flying inside but she doesn’t bloody care right now.

* * *

Tony stops only when she’s safe in the workshop, door locked. She stands, shivering a little and trying not to sniffle like a stupid child, as the bots disarm her, gently peeling off the defensive plates piece by piece. When it’s all gone, every last bit, she slumps at the workbench and puts her head in her hands, rubbing savagely, yanking at her own hair.

Then JARVIS says, ‘Captain Rogers is outside, Sir,’ and Tony startles as though she’s been slapped.

‘What,’ she whispers, ‘Why, JARVIS, why, what does she want?’

‘Captain Rogers is very concerned, and determined to remain until she has spoken to you and ascertained your welfare for herself,’ JARVIS tells her.

Tony flings her hands out, a kind of dull anger taking hold. ‘I’m  _fine_ ,’ she hisses, ‘scan me, JARVIS, show her the results and tell her to  _go away!_ ’

‘I believe, however, that the Captain is concerned about both your physical and  _emotional_  welfare,’ JARVIS says delicately.

‘Oh, she is, is she,’ Tony says, desperately. ‘And – and it has to, has to be  _now_  that we do this, of course,  _fine_ , let her in then, we’ll do it,’ and something inside of her is cringing, flinching, because getting a breakup letter is one thing – when she actually gets to reading it – but talking, talking  _hurts_ , hurts even more, hearing it spoken in the voice that you, you care about, it  _hurts…_

‘Tony!’ Steve bursts in like a storm, glancing urgently around till she sees Tony at the bench, striding over. ‘Oh, my God, Tony, you can’t – don’t  _scare_  me like that!’ Then she’s right there, and – and she’s touching Tony, running her hands over her shoulders, her back, bringing her palm up to cup Tony’s face, and what, what…?

Tony jumps up and lurches away. ‘What – what are you doing?’ she says, distraught, ‘you can’t just act like – you, you sent me a letter! This doesn’t change anything!’

‘What?’ Steve’s looking at her, a deep wrinkle between her brows. ‘Yes, I – I left you a letter, but…’ Then her face changes, stricken. ‘It was too fast, wasn’t it? Oh, Tony, I’m sorry. I thought – I mean, after last night, it seemed like. Well.’ She clears her throat, her cheeks pinkening.

‘What,’ Tony says, a tiny husk of a sound. She feels like everything’s turned upside down, tilting weirdly, warping at the edges. ‘What?’

Now Steve’s looking at her more closely, and her hand is reaching out to close warmly around Tony’s own. ‘Tony,’ Steve says slowly, ‘did you  _read_  that note?’

Tony makes a tiny shaking movement with her head, and now something else is rising up inside her; horror.

She’s – she’s messed up  _again_ , misread, and whatever was in Steve’s note, it  _wasn’t_  a breakup message but somehow Tony’s managed to turn this thing to shit anyway, just like she always does. And now she’ll have to pull out the note and read it in front of Steve and the shame of it all is rising up and pressing on her throat, and she wants to cry but – but…

But then Steve’s arms are around her, hugging her tightly; and Steve’s face is pressed hard into Tony’s hair as though  _she’s_  holding back tears, and she says in a breaking sort of voice, ‘Oh, Tony sweetheart _._ ’

And Tony bursts into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like Tony’s misunderstanding was necessary to show that her insecurities are still a big part of how she functions sometimes. I hope it wasn’t too painful!
> 
> Next chapter: Clothes come off.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just purely sex and emotion. You can easily skip it if that’s not your thing, though, and pick up at the next chapter.

Steve pulls them both over to the couch, launches them almost roughly into it, pulls Tony firmly into her chest as she cries, enclosed in the circle of Steve’s arms. Steve pets Tony’s hair, cuddles her close, whispers endearments, rocks her. Steve is – fierce, in her protection, she feels like fire and warmth and safety and stone; and Tony cries into her shirt, messy and wet and entirely unattractive, while Steve murmurs softly against her hair, gentle hushing nonsense, rubbing Tony's back.

'I'm sorry, I'm so – s-sorry,’ Tony chokes at last – pathetic –  _stupid_ , what’s wrong with her, what the hell is even  _wrong_ with her, God she just, she just hates herself sometimes – ‘M’c-crying all over – over y-you, I should – go, just, let me,’ she snuffles, but her hands and body don’t want to let go of Steve, and Steve just holds her tighter and it feels like the only thing that’s stopping her from breaking up into tiny pieces.

‘Not going anywhere,’ Steve says stubbornly, and she kisses Tony’s forehead. And Tony needs – she  _needs_ to be closer, closer, needs to touch and taste and feel Steve everywhere, and she’s still crying but she turns her face into Steve’s neck and opens her mouth rather desperately, licking at the warm beating pulsepoint. Steve makes a little sharp surprised sound, and her hand seems to slip of its own accord into the gap beneath Tony’s T-shirt, warm skin on warm skin.

Tony shudders at the touch, a whole-body shudder, and then her mouth finds Steve’s, warm and open and deep, and oh, this is so much better than anything she could have imagined, Steve’s fingers stroking and exploring her back while Steve’s tongue slides softly across the delicate skin of her lips. Tony’s fingers fumble at Steve’s uniform, God, why is it so much in the way, why are there so many  _straps_ and  _buckles_ , she needs it to be _off_ but it won’t, it…

‘Hey,’ Steve says. ‘Hey. Shh, it’s okay, let me just…’ She cups Tony’s face with her hand for a moment, thumb brushing gently at her cheek, and Tony realises that she’s still crying, and Steve’s just wiped away a tear. Steve’s got that little worried crinkle in between her brows, eyes soft and searching Tony’s face, and Tony can just  _feel_  her changing her mind.

‘I  _need_ ,’ Tony says fiercely. ‘I, I really, I want it, okay,  _please_ ,’ and she presses her face into Steve’s shoulder, overcome and shaking and needy.

‘Okay,’ Steve whispers. ‘Okay.’ Her hands smooth down Tony’s back, firm and reassuring, slowing the pace, and Tony clings onto her, breathing heavily. She tips her face up after a moment, pleading, and Steve meets her with a kiss, slow and quiet and unhurried. It seems to go on for hours, Steve suckling gently at Tony's bottom lip as Tony melts into it, making little soft involuntary sounds.

Then Steve flips them so that she's on her back, pulling Tony onto her chest. And – God, it's incredible, Tony can  _feel_  so much, feel every little quiver Steve makes beneath her, feel the soft-strong rise and fall of Steve's chest. Steve's hands are underneath her T-shirt again, gently caressing the dip at the small of Tony's back, and she wants  _so badly_  to feel Steve's skin.

She pulls her lips away for a second and whispers, 'Please,' coming back to the kiss a second later because she can't bear to stay away. 'Suit – please,  _Steve,_ ' she gets out, and she can feel Steve smiling against her mouth.

'Okay,' Steve says softly, and the words hum against Tony's lips. And then, then Steve's pulling back a little, her hands stripping quickly at the suit, unbuckling and yanking, and finally it's tossed to the floor and – and  _God_ , Steve in a damply clinging white T-shirt, black shorts showing every curve of her hips and thighs, Steve's long legs, muscled and lightly sprinkled with golden hair, Steve's hair tousled and her lips soft and parted and her eyes blown wide with want. Tony makes a helpless, desperate little sound and launches at her, hands roaming Steve's arms and shoulders, chests pressing softly together, rocking against each other as they kiss.

Steve's hands are under Tony's T-shirt again, and that's good, that's so very, very good, and Tony writhes under the touch. She needs – she  _needs,_ and on instinct she bites at Steve's shoulder through the damp T-shirt, tasting salt and cotton. Steve makes a low gasping sound, her head arching back, her fingers clenching on Tony's skin.

And then Tony’s T-shirt is being yanked off, and Steve’s fingers are fumbling at her underwear and then it’s tossed across the room, and _oh, God,_ Steve’s _hands_ , everywhere, touching, exploring, cupping, kneading gently at the softness of Tony’s breasts, tracing the mass of scarring in between them. Tony squirms ecstatically into the touch, tugging at Steve’s shirt, because she needs Steve’s skin against hers, she _needs_ it!

‘Please, please, please, please,’ Tony chants wildly, her fingers pulling at the white cotton, and Steve makes a little ragged sound, amusement and arousal together, and kisses her again.

And then everything happens in a frantic sort of flurry, Steve’s hauling her own shirt off one-handed while her other hand slides to Tony’s hips and under her waistband, insistent. ‘Clothes, off. Now,’ Steve commands, and oh, God _,_ it’s the _Captain voice_. Tony whimpers.

Three soft thuds on the floor later, and she actually cries out in relief as Steve’s skin is finally pressed against her, warm and soft and solid, and Steve’s thigh is between hers, rocking, and Steve’s hand is gently cupping the naked crease of Tony’s backside, her fingers working a little. Tony cries out again, and again, little sharp cries, involuntary; her hands are finally, _finally_ on Steve’s breasts, full and silky-soft, a lovely weight against Tony’s seeking fingers.

Tony _needs_ , she needs more, and she pants into the smooth warm skin of Steve’s shoulder, sucking, then darts wildly down to Steve’s satiny nipple, kissing open-mouthed, warm and wet. Steve whimpers at that, high in her throat, her body going taut for an instant. And then – God, _God_ , Steve’s hand is there at the soft centre between Tony’s legs, fingers dancing through the dark curls for a few unbearable moments before she finds it, the little bundle of nerve endings that makes Tony stiffen and cry out sharply and writhe desperately against the pressure.

‘Beautiful,’ Steve’s whispering, ‘beautiful, _beautiful,_ oh God, Tony, _Tony_ ,’ and she’s kissing Tony’s forehead and holding her safe in the curve of one arm, Steve’s firm gentle fingers moving in a steady circling caress that makes Tony choke out wordlessly, her back arching as she chases the frantic lovely feeling of it. And Steve holds her and touches her, moving and moving and _moving_ until Tony jerks and sobs, sudden and desperate, and shudders over the edge.

* * *

Later, they nestle together – much later, after Tony, still shaking and letting out little panting sobs, has crawled desperately down to put her mouth on Steve; and after Steve has gasped and bucked helplessly for a few moments, and then drawn Tony gently up to kiss her, warm and shaky and sweet, before she’s hardly started.

After Steve has whispered, ‘Not – not like that, not this time, please, I want. I want to hold you, Tony – _dear_ Tony,’ and then shifted so that she can rock against Tony’s hip and hand, clinging on to Tony’s shoulders for purchase with unsteady fingers. After Steve has climaxed in just a few minutes with a small choked sound of shock, biting softly into the hollow of Tony’s neck, Tony caressing her face and back and skin with gentle little touches as she comes apart.

Then Steve collapses back onto the couch, all lovely pink-flushed cheeks and parted lips and heavy eyelids, and pulls Tony down against her chest and wraps her arms around her so they _fit_ , warm and soft and tender, legs entangled, breast to breast, Steve whispering quiet hushing nonsense into Tony’s hair.

And Tony nestles into the soft skin of Steve’s shoulder, wrung out and exhausted and content, and sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love them. I love them so much. <3
> 
> Watch out for a new chapter of [Do Not Steal Steve's Fricken Pencils (Or Poke Tony's Bottom With Your Ruler)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10293092/chapters/22772441) soon (fingers crossed)!


	8. Chapter 8

_‘…Mo sheoid gan cealg, mo chuid gan tsaoil mhór,  
Seothín seo ho, nach mór é an taitneamh…’_

Tony eases awake to quiet singing, low and tender. She’s warm and comfortable and content, resting against soft, naked skin, fingers stroking her hair; and she remembers, _Steve_ _– crying – sex_ in that order.

It’s Steve singing, Steve’s soft breasts that Tony is currently snuggled into, Steve’s hand running soothingly through her hair. When Tony tips her face drowsily back to look up at her, Steve’s hand curves around the back of Tony’s head to hold it against her shoulder.

 _‘…Mo stóirín na leaba, na chodladh gan brón,’_ she sings softly, and smiles a little, looking down at Tony’s face. Her eyes are very blue.

‘What’s that song?’ Tony murmurs, and kisses Steve’s collarbone, because it’s there and it’s sweet and silky and she’s wanted to put her lips against it for _such_ a long time. Steve’s fingers are tangling tenderly in her hair, now, Steve’s thumb caressing the soft patch of skin behind Tony’s ear.

‘Something my Ma used to sing to me,’ Steve says. ‘It’s an old Irish lullaby. I – well. It reminded me of you.’ She’s blushing a little, Tony notices, that soft pink Steve-flush that creeps across her face and down her neck.

‘What’s it mean?’ Tony asks, nuzzling at Steve’s warm pinkened neck, but Steve just laughs and kisses her nose.

‘Maybe I’ll tell you one day,’ she teases.

* * *

_Bang!_

_Bang-Bang-Bang!_

_BANG-G!_

Someone’s thumping on the workshop glass with great enthusiasm and determination, damn them. Tony makes a grumbling noise, because Steve stops what she’s doing to listen, and what she was doing was sucking a wonderfully thorough bruise onto Tony’s neck.

Steve grunts in frustration. ‘ _Bucky_ ,’ she predicts, exasperated.

‘And Clint,’ Tony sighs.

‘ARE YOU DECENT?’ Clint yells.

‘NO, GO AWAY,’ Steve shouts back, and Tony muffles a shocked gasp of delight into Steve’s neck. Steve grins into her hair and wriggles her fingers in a cheerful little caress down Tony’s spine.

‘GET DRESSED, STEVIE, WHO THE HELL HAS SEX ON CHRISTMAS DAY,’ Bucky roars, and Tony giggles harder.

‘Obviously not him,’ Steve says drily. ‘I wonder if he’s realised yet that he’s head-over-heels for Clint?’ She presses a little kiss to Tony’s temple.

‘EMERGE, SHIELD-SISTERS, FOR WE HAVE A LARGE MOUNTAIN OF GIFTS!’ That’s Thor, and Tony starts laughing in earnest.

‘Do you want to go?’ Steve asks her, and Tony actually does, despite the delicious comfortable lethargy of being snuggled up in Steve’s warm hold.

‘Mm,’ she says. ‘With you.’

Steve laughs and sweeps her up in her arms. ‘Shower first?’ she offers, and Tony kisses her neck in enthusiastic agreement.

* * *

Tony doesn’t want to give up contact with Steve’s body for more than a few moments, so they end up showering together, which leads to other, very nice things. There’s a few minutes of soapy bodies and writhing against each other under the warm spray, but then Tony bashes her elbow on the tiles and screeches because it _hurts_ , and Steve’s half-laughing, half-concerned, and they decide to take it to Tony’s big bed.

Afterwards, Steve leans her head on Tony’s shoulder, panting, and starts laughing again, her chest heaving. Tony presses her face into Steve’s hair and giggles. Steve’s hair is so nice, silky and damp and nice-smelling, and Tony nuzzles at it.

‘Oh God,’ Steve says, her voice soft and slurred with pleasure. ‘Supposed t’go down there about an hour ago. Bucky and Clint – going t’be bouncin’ through the _walls_.’

Tony traces her fingers languidly down Steve’s face, Steve’s neck, feeling soft and satisfied, the delicious tired tingling of her afterglow between her legs. ‘Mm, they’ll wait,’ she murmurs, and finds Steve’s hand and squeezes it gently.

Steve kisses Tony’s collarbone, feather-light, threading their fingers together. ‘Tony?’ she says softly, and brings her other hand up to stroke Tony’s cheek. ‘That letter I left. It was just. Just wanted to – ask you out for dinner. A – a real proper date, you know.’ She pauses, and then says quietly, ‘Seems like you’re always doin’ things for me. Like to do something just for you.’

Tony closes her eyes, overcome. ‘I’m sorry-’ she whispers, ‘I didn’t, I thought, I’m so st-’

‘ _No_ ,’ Steve says, firm. She shifts a little, lifts herself up so she’s hovering over Tony. ‘Look at me – please, sweetheart,’ and her tone is so tender and entreating that Tony does, her breathing going shaky.

Steve’s looking down at her, so soft and blue and serious. ‘You’re not – whatever you were going to say,’ Steve says gently. ‘You’re good and sweet and kind and funny and _brilliant_ – God, Tony, so brilliant, so proud of you, did you know that? And you have this idea that you’re not worth it. And that’s why you misunderstood the letter. And I know you’re beating yourself up about it, but. Tony. It’s _not your fault_ you feel like that, and – and you have _nothing_ to be ashamed of.’ She drops her forehead to touch against Tony’s, huffing out a little laughing breath. ‘Sorry. Just – I just wanted you to know.’

Tony sniffles, because she doesn’t know – she doesn’t know what to _do_ with it, this thing Steve does, when her eyes go so deep and earnest and she says these awful and wonderful things that rip Tony apart and make her whole, all at the same time. ‘Steve,’ she says helplessly, ‘Steve-’ and Steve kisses her softly on the corner of her mouth.

‘My little sweetheart,’ she says, and nudges away the dampness at Tony’s eyes with her knuckle.

* * *

There’s an outburst of laughter when they finally get to the main area, hand in hand. Clint whoops, tucked happily under Bucky’s arm, and flicks three pieces of popcorn in quick succession to bounce with devastating accuracy off the tip of Tony’s nose. ‘Quit that, you maniac,’ she calls at him, and he sticks his tongue out at her like the twelve-year-old he is.

Then Steve tips Tony’s face with two gentle fingers on her jaw, and carefully thumbs away the little smudge of butter on her nose, and something goes all to mush in Tony’s chest. And she smiles stupidly up into Steve’s face and everyone’s watching and teasing and she doesn’t care because Steve’s just – _amazing_ and Steve just had sex with her – twice! – and said she was _proud_ of her, and Steve’s going to take her on a date, too. A real proper date, with dinner and maybe holding hands, and…

Clint flicks another piece of popcorn at her. Tony jumps, slightly guilty. ‘Stop being gross, Stark,’ he whines. ‘Quit thinking about sexytimes with Cap and start thinking about _presents._ ’

‘At least I’m _getting_ s–’ Tony starts to say, triumphant, but then a large warm hand comes over her mouth and she squawks indignantly.

‘Do not finish that sentence,’ Steve tells her firmly, dropping her hand, and Tony sighs and leans her head on Steve’s arm.

‘Fine, whatever, not finishing, that wasn’t a sex joke by the way because we definitely _did_ –’ The hand comes back, and Tony gets a reproving tap on the nose and an awesome fond-exasperated look from Steve before she ungags her, and it makes Tony feel all glowy and warm and nice inside.

‘ _Jesus,_ Stevie,’ Bucky says, coming to stand by Steve’s shoulder. He’s looking, pointedly, at the big bite-mark high on Tony’s neck. ‘Feeling better now, are we?’

Steve goes faintly pink as Bucky snickers, and tells him to shut up, _Barnes_ , it’s none of his bloody business. Tony bounces and squeezes Steve’s hand and snarks back at the others in a vague sort of way, and it’s _fun_ , and Steve’s hand is so warm and soft and encloses Tony’s fingers so nicely.

Pepper’s herding everyone along towards the Christmas tree, exchanging little laughing looks with Natasha every now and then. Darcy comes and gives Tony a big hug and a pinch on her bottom, whispering something loud and incredibly inappropriate that makes Tony chortle, because _Darcy_. Steve rolls her eyes and firmly peels Darcy’s hand away. ‘ _Hands,_ Darcy. We’ve talked about this,’ she says, and pulls Darcy in for a hug of her own, ruffling her hair.

Rhodey comes up behind the two of them when everyone’s distracted with Clint shooting the star off the top of the tree, putting a big warm hand on Tony’s shoulder. ‘So. No need for any more matchmaking?’ he murmurs, and Tony feels like crying, which is really stupid because she’s so happy it hurts, and she turns round and hugs him, hard, pressing her face into his shoulder. Rhodey pats her back and gives her curls an affectionate tweak.

When Tony lets go, Rhodey’s looking at Steve, head tilted. ‘Only going to say this once, Rogers,’ he says easily. ‘You know the drill. You hurt her: Me. Bodybag. Shovel. Unmarked grave.’

‘Rhodey Rhodey _Rhodey!_ Honeybear!’ Tony squeaks. ‘Did you just, you _did_ , you shovel-talked Steve! Oh my God, so embarrassing, why do I keep you around, why are my friends like this, oh my God,’ and Rhodey rolls his eyes and places his hand lightly over her mouth.

‘Shh,’ he says. ‘Trying to have a serious discussion with Captain Rogers here, duckling,’ and then Tony licks his hand. ‘Ugh. You’re such a child,’ Rhodey says.

‘Why is everyone _doing_ that!?’ Tony says, aggrieved, breaking away.

Steve catches her with an arm round her waist, drawing her in to rest with her back against Steve’s chest. ‘Understood,’ she says to Rhodey, and oh, that makes Tony shiver suddenly, because Steve, Steve sounds so warm and _serious_ and calm, like she’s pledging an oath or something, and Rhodey is meeting Steve’s eyes with a long steady look over the top of Tony’s head. Steve’s arms are very gentle around Tony’s body, and her hands are curled around her waist and chest, one thumb stroking tiny unobtrusive circles against the underside of Tony’s breast.

Rhodey looks at them both for a long moment, his eyes softening a very little. Then he shakes his head, grinning. ‘Can you just – stop. My God. You’re so sickeningly sweet and adorable that you’re making my teeth ache,’ he tells Tony, and thumps Steve’s arm. ‘Come on, tall and small. Presents.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Irish Gaelic lullaby Steve sings to Tony is called Seoithín Seo Hó (Hush-a-bye Baby), and the lines above translate to:
> 
> ‘My flawless jewel, my piece of the world  
> Hush-a-bye, baby, isn't it a great joy  
> My little one in bed without any sorrows.’
> 
> Because, y’know, Steve’s a giant sap. Tony loves it. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, please?
> 
> This work is now part of a [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/611890). If you are subscribed to this fic, you may want to subscribe to the series instead. I might post standalone stories about this Steve and Tony that don't directly fit in this fic, but are related and part of the same universe. Things like interesting backstories, random snuggletimes, possibly fluff and sex that's too plotless to include in the main story! But I'll add them all to the series, so if you subscribe directly to it, you'll get notified whenever I post anything in this universe. :)
> 
> If you’re on Tumblr and want soft gentle SteveTony ficlets and headcanons on your dash, come check out my [blog](http://greymantledlady.tumblr.com/), because I post new content regularly. :)


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